


riding on the back of a hell they caused

by orphan_account



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: (right? that's what happened right????), Drabble, Gen, Hallucinations, Pregnancy, slight AU, the usual warnings for outlast apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 15:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lynn can’t fucking breathe.





	riding on the back of a hell they caused

**Author's Note:**

> lynn langermann deserved better. this was probably a mistake, but i wanted to make more content for her, sooo here we are.
> 
> sorry for any typos.
> 
> title from [the culling by chelsea wolfe.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mITFiX5Qqlk)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lynn can’t fucking breathe.

Between the flash of light that left her disoriented just before the crash, the worry concerning the fact that Blake is missing gnawing at her, and the pains in her stomach, there isn’t any room to breathe. It feels like those fuckers still have their hands on her and she can’t run fast enough. Jumping out the window might’ve not been the best idea—but that doesn’t matter.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” she says, hearing trees and bushes rustle all around her. What’s a footstep and what’s just the wind—her fear spikes every time she catches a whisper as she forces herself to take another step forward.

_What the fuck—_

That fucking priest told her she was pregnant. And—there’s no way—there should be no _fucking way_ —

And the pain is threading through her like a needle, sharp, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Blake is probably dead. Judging by what she saw how the pilot was strung up along with the rotting corpses stretched all the way from the sight of the helicopter crash to the horizon, it’s best that he is. That’s what she tells herself.

Is he out here? Half of her hopes to God he’s not—the other half is wishing and waiting for him to appear, a little worse for wear, but _alive_.

“Fucking—”

Something hits her in the back. It’s the blunt end of an axe handle. She goes down and she clenches her teeth around the sound of pain that tries to escape her throat; there are pairs of hands taking hold of her sleeves, pulling her this way and that—

“Get your hands off me!” she screeches, flailing wildly. The jut of her elbow finds a gut; her swinging fists find a jaw; her attackers’ grip grows just weak enough for her to shove away from them and lurch forward into the dark.

That voice—that fucking _voice_ on the loudspeaker—is talking about her. _Whore of Satan, mother of the spider-eyed lamb_ —all bullshit. Fucking insane. It makes her mind spin as she puts one foot in front of the other, trying to remember how to breathe.

In the pitch dark, she stumbles down a steep hillside and finds herself half-running, half-stumbling through tall grass. She ducks low, keeping close to the ground.

“Go, go, go,” she hisses at herself, pressing onward.

Her heart is pounding. Her chest hurts. Her abdomen feels like it’s rotting inside of her. The skin is expanding already, perhaps—even though there’s _no way in hell_ —and she can feel a kick— _a kick_ —from within.

“Don’t fucking do this to me,” Lynn says, but she’s alone now, too far in the dark trees to be heard or seen by anyone.

This shouldn’t be happening—

And she can’t remember how to take a fucking breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
